


does this make me a princess?

by InterestingName



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3998182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterestingName/pseuds/InterestingName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, Grantaire just accidentally fucked the prince of France.</p>
            </blockquote>





	does this make me a princess?

Unsurprisingly, Grantaire’s first thought was that the guy was _really_ hot. Sure, he _did_ have a job interview in the afternoon at like three, but drunk-him thought he hadn’t drunk that much. The guy, who was practically Godlike in terms of appearance, also thought he wasn’t that drunk. Grantaire personally thought he _was_ ‘that drunk’, not in a taking-advantage-way, but more of a drunk goggles, he’s-into- _me?!_ sort of way.

Long story short, they’re back at Grantaire’s shit hole of a flat, which doesn’t really make sense considering the man - his mind supplies the name Enjolras, which rings a vague bell- obviously has money, and a nicer flat to boot, but he gasped ‘ _your place_ ’ into Grantaire’s mouth as they drunkenly kissed and attempted to walk out the club door. And how could he resist that?

Anyway, so they’re at Grantaire’s door, and he’s trying to shove the key in while also not looking away from Enjolras’ kiss-flushed face, and he _finally_ successfully shoves it in, to Enjolras’ obvious delight. That’s the last thing he clearly remembers. Everything after that is a blur, which is a damn shame.

And then it’s the next morning and the blonde Adonis is nowhere to be found, probably because it’s _two-thirty in the afternoon_ , and he’s so late.

He showers, dresses, and grabs his toast in a matter of minutes, but he steps in a puddle on his way out the door and misses his train by seconds - a smug blonde tyke smiles at him from behind the plexiglass. Grantaire scowls back, and tries not to look at his reflection.

He makes the interview, but he’s close to ten minutes late. Really, that’s not that bad for him, but he doubts his prospective employer will see it that way.

He arrives at a nondescript building, slap-bang between the fashionable side of the city and the presidential palace's buildings. He vaguely wonders why the type of place needing a bodyguard would choose somewhere that’s both home to hipsters and bomb threats, but can't remember the name of the building or company. He tries to remember _what_ his job would actually be, if he got said job, but he can't remember that either. All he knows is that Eponine's friend Marius has "connections" (hopefully not the same type of "connections" as her other friend, Montparnasse, does), and got this interview for him.

Entering the building, he takes the elevator to the second floor (because he has a hangover, okay!) and walks up to the receptionist with a fixed smile on his face. She’s a friendly women with big waves of brown hair, and smiles at him as he gives her his name and appointment time. “Don’t worry,” she says with genuine care. “Combeferre’s really a big softie. Deep down.”

He knocks on the door to the right, and waits for a second before he hears a man’s voice say “Come in.”. He opens the door to find a spacious office, with big windows along the back wall. There’s a big desk in the middle of the room, pushed against the far right wall just like in all the movies. Sitting there is a man who seems a few years older than Grantaire, looking far more comfortable than one should be when they’re wearing a business suit. He looks at Grantaire over his spectacles (because that’s what they are, not glasses) with a scrutiny on par with Eponine’s - a feat to be marvelled at.

“Mr. Grantaire, is it?” He asks. “Please, sit down.” He gestures to a chair placed in front of the desk, and picks up a file, which Grantaire assumes to be his resume. “It’s a good thing you’re late, because my, uh.. _associate_ is late too. I’m sure you’ll get along, with that much in common.”

Before an awkward silence can settle over the room, someone bursts through the door without bothering to knock. “It’s me, I’m here!” The man says. Grantaire turns to look and see who his other potential boss is, but before he can, Mr. Combeferre stands up. “Grantaire.” He says, “Meet Enjolras.” _Enjolras?_ his mind wonders.

Before he can make any wild guesses, the man behind him seems to choke on his next words. He stands up to meet Enjolras, and turns around to see the wide-eyed, sunglasses-wearing, blonde Adonis from last night - only this time, he’s in a business suit (looking unfairly attractive in it) and his face is flushed from running, not alcohol.

“Enjolras.” He says with fake politeness as he tries to mask his surprise. Fake politeness is more than it seems Enjolras can say, in his current state. He’s staring wide-eyed at him, and he can see Enjolras' cheeks warm more than they already are, if such a thing is possible. _Just like last night_ , his mind supplies.

He outreaches one hand, hoping that Enjolras would snap out enough to take it in his own, so that they could continue the interview and hopefully he could stop working minimum wage. Enjolras smiles at him, all of a sudden almost princely in his respectfulness, and says “Grantaire. It’s nice to meet you again.”

“You two have already met?” Combeferre inquires from behind him. For a second there, Grantaire had forgotten that anyone but him and Enjolras were in the room. He bets that Enjolras’ presence does that to a lot of people.

“Yes.” Enjolras says, still looking at Grantaire, and doesn’t elaborate further.

* * *

Thankfully, the interview is fast and goes well. Multiple times throughout, Enjolras and Combeferre exchange loaded glances and communicate silently. At the interview, Combeferre (who seems to be the leading force on this one) says “Well, Mr. Grantaire, I’ll be frank with you. We haven’t had much luck with applicants who Enjolras likes, and your skills are outstanding. We’d like to offer you the job.”

“Cool! Awesome!” He says, his mouth jabbering on without his consent. On one hand, he’s happy that he can pay his bills, but on the other he doesn’t want to have to see Enjolras everyday. “So when shall I meet the client?”. He's figured out, through several mistakes and a few confusing pauses, that he'll be some local, small time politician's bodyguard. 

“Oh,” Combeferre says, surprised. “Didn’t we say? You have already. You’ll be guarding Enjolras here.” He gestures to Enjolras, who seemed vaguely embarrassed at the deceleration, and was staring at the floor with intensity. Almost as intense as the stare he had been giving Grantaire all throughout the interview when he thought he wasn't looking.

“Um..” He chokes out. “What?” He’s fucked. He’s _so_ fucked.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras says, speaking for the first time since the interview ended. “Don’t you recognize me?” There’s no rudeness or pomposity in his voice, just mere surprise and dread.

"Not.. really?" He says, trying to wrack his brains for if he'd seen Enjolras on TV. He didn't really watch the news, and Marius was the only person he knew who kept up with politics. But wasn't Enjolras a little young to need a bodyguard?

Enjolras looks at him with an unrecognisable look. “I’m the Prince.” He says.

And Grantaire finally recognises him. The first thought that came into his mind was ‘ _I fucked a Prince?_ ’. His second thought was ' _Oh shit, does that make me a Princess now?_ '.


End file.
